Maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
Without a heartbeat of a lie, I would marry any man who presented me with a book of E.E.Cummings poems.
*Poem lifted from Poets.org
Showing posts with label booktopia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label booktopia. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Mundane medicine
Even as a child I would make my bed every day. When all around is chaos, that island of smoothed sheet and plumped pillow can calm me more than almost anything. I think the ultimate thing in making a bed is that it allows at least one task to be completed, even if nothing gets done all day, and that gives my life some small semblance of worth.
I stumbled across this article excerpt on Wide Open Spaces and had to share it, because it's the only way I can describe what making my bed means without sounding insane. Of course, my life is sans the children, husband, and fabulous career, but nonetheless full of small moments of desperation and unsteady waters.
"Making the bed":
The simplest, most satisfying activity I do all day is making my bed. In seven minutes or less, I accomplish something small but worthwhile. I give myself a new beginning.On a morning of chaos, children hollering, misplaced homework, and a husband looking for clean socks, it's the calm in a storm. I love the physical, methodical act of tugging sheets and plumping pillows. I sense my jumbled thoughts being sorted as I exact the length of the blanket along the horizon of the bed. If I am anxious, stretching my arms wide and lifting the sheets high in the air releases some of the unease into the universe along with the eyelashes and the lint. It's organizing in the most gentle of ways.
Life is hard sometimes - hard for everyone differently, but hard. For me, there are intricate blended-family calisthenics, concerns about overcrowding in my kid's school, money worries, children worries, parent worries, and wrinkles in weird places. It can be overwhelming, but I find making the bed is a good first step to getting a handle on it all. Being a mother and a wife, a writer and an actress, is wonderful, really wonderful, but I don't know that I do it right all the time. I make mistakes, feel in search of out-of-reach answers; but I can assemble something that has been dismantled, straighten what has been undone. When I make the bed, I am caring for something important to me and my husband (and sometimes, in the middle of the night, a child.) A made bed is good to come home to. It says to the world and, more important, to you, "I am not unhinged."
It's never to late to make the bed. If it doesn't get done at 7:45 am because I had to start over with the eggs or I slept a little too long, it will still be there later that afternoon. Sometimes I make the bed 15 minutes before I get in it again.
And, inevitably, while i consider if the sheet is on the correct side or pull out a down feather that has poked through the case, there is a moment when it strikes me how lucky I am to have a bed."
The article, published in Real Simple, was written by writer and actress Isabel Gillies. For those of you who loved this passage as much for the writing as the content, you should do as I am and track down her book Happens Every Day.
And in the mean time, make your bed - it'll make you feel good.
I stumbled across this article excerpt on Wide Open Spaces and had to share it, because it's the only way I can describe what making my bed means without sounding insane. Of course, my life is sans the children, husband, and fabulous career, but nonetheless full of small moments of desperation and unsteady waters.
"Making the bed":
The simplest, most satisfying activity I do all day is making my bed. In seven minutes or less, I accomplish something small but worthwhile. I give myself a new beginning.On a morning of chaos, children hollering, misplaced homework, and a husband looking for clean socks, it's the calm in a storm. I love the physical, methodical act of tugging sheets and plumping pillows. I sense my jumbled thoughts being sorted as I exact the length of the blanket along the horizon of the bed. If I am anxious, stretching my arms wide and lifting the sheets high in the air releases some of the unease into the universe along with the eyelashes and the lint. It's organizing in the most gentle of ways.
Life is hard sometimes - hard for everyone differently, but hard. For me, there are intricate blended-family calisthenics, concerns about overcrowding in my kid's school, money worries, children worries, parent worries, and wrinkles in weird places. It can be overwhelming, but I find making the bed is a good first step to getting a handle on it all. Being a mother and a wife, a writer and an actress, is wonderful, really wonderful, but I don't know that I do it right all the time. I make mistakes, feel in search of out-of-reach answers; but I can assemble something that has been dismantled, straighten what has been undone. When I make the bed, I am caring for something important to me and my husband (and sometimes, in the middle of the night, a child.) A made bed is good to come home to. It says to the world and, more important, to you, "I am not unhinged."
It's never to late to make the bed. If it doesn't get done at 7:45 am because I had to start over with the eggs or I slept a little too long, it will still be there later that afternoon. Sometimes I make the bed 15 minutes before I get in it again.
And, inevitably, while i consider if the sheet is on the correct side or pull out a down feather that has poked through the case, there is a moment when it strikes me how lucky I am to have a bed."
The article, published in Real Simple, was written by writer and actress Isabel Gillies. For those of you who loved this passage as much for the writing as the content, you should do as I am and track down her book Happens Every Day.
And in the mean time, make your bed - it'll make you feel good.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Writing things down
I applied for a job this morning with both excitement and trepidation. A friend of mine told me she'd put in a good word for me with her superiors if I applied for the position, add to that the horrendous amount of skills I have and I think I've got a rather good shot. The problem: it's as Assistant Manager in a retail store and I'm incredibly sick of convincing people to buy things they just don't need. I'll save my consumerism rant for another time but, suffice to say, after ten years in retail I know how much mark up is on products and I also know the shiny leather Gucci bag isn't really $2000 of better quality than the shiny leather unknown-brand bag.
There are countless other reasons I'd rather not go back into retail - standing on your feet all day, working every public holiday, nasty customers, the threat of being stuck in retail forever! Yes, that last point is the one that scares me the most, why do you ask? But when it comes down to it, I'm also excited at the possibilities retail offers me. It means I have a job, but it also means I can move back to Brisbane, have a purpose in my days and save some money. And the money is the most important, because with that I can afford to go back to study, travel, and maybe...just maybe create my own little business on the side.
Besides, the company I'd be working for, kikki.K, is one of my all time favourites. Just look at the cuteness they sell:
Oh and of course, it's not all about cute, they do sophistication:
and style as well:
Now all I have to do is get the job. Cross your fingers for me.
There are countless other reasons I'd rather not go back into retail - standing on your feet all day, working every public holiday, nasty customers, the threat of being stuck in retail forever! Yes, that last point is the one that scares me the most, why do you ask? But when it comes down to it, I'm also excited at the possibilities retail offers me. It means I have a job, but it also means I can move back to Brisbane, have a purpose in my days and save some money. And the money is the most important, because with that I can afford to go back to study, travel, and maybe...just maybe create my own little business on the side.
Besides, the company I'd be working for, kikki.K, is one of my all time favourites. Just look at the cuteness they sell:
Friday, February 12, 2010
Bake me away
When I was a kid, my brother and I would spend the best part of the weekend running amok outside. We lived in a small country town next to the macinery firm dad ran, and had unhindered access to all manner of tractor, plough, ride-on mower and farm thinga-ma-bob. On Sunday afternoons, after a full day of yabbieing, "driving" tractors, and (ahem) aquiring and selling golfers their own golf balls (we were wicked children), we'd scramble inside, grass-stained and sunburnt. And that's when the real fun would begin.
See, Sunday afternoon was baking afternoon, the time when my mother would roll up her sleeves and restock the cupboard with afternoon tea and lunchbox treats, and we got to help. Now, there's nothing too shocking in that, most kids have helped their mum bake cookies at one time or another. The reason I share this is because it was the start of a life-long love, a love that may just rival that I will have for any man. Ever.
When I was six...and ten...and even fifteen, cooking was a time I spent helping my mother with chores. But it was also a time we could spend learning each other, and teaching each other things. My mother is a smart woman. She understood that bakeing wasn't just about flour, sugar, and butter, it was about learning new skills, creating something yourself, and giving something to others that you can't find in any Oreo or Tim Tam.
The great thing about cooking is that, when it's done purely for the love of it, it is an experience well outside the chore we often make it. We cook because we must eat. But we can also cook to give those who eat our food, a little taste of ourselves. My days of climbing tractors and ripping off golfers may be over, and the timing may be less Sunday afternoon and more whenever the urge kicks in, but the excitement at watching a cake rise, or a mayonaise thicken is still the same. And the feeling of satisfaction I get when someone 'Mmmmm's at the taste of my brownies is pure joy.
I spent almost an hour today gasping and thumbing through the cookbooks in my local department store. It felt like a mere ten minutes. Among the treasures I would gladly have sold a limb for was a book by Monica Trapaga that sums up a large chunk of why I love cooking.
She's Leaving Home is a bunch of Monica's family's favourite recipes, stories, and cooking tips, originally created for her daughter when she left home. Luckily, she has also decided to share it with the rest of the world. The recipes that fill the book are accompanied by family annecdotes and some super sweet illustrations, and seem to swell with the love and fulfillment they surely have provided generations of her family.
Outside of the book, Monica is a seasoned entertainer and a veteran of Australian children's television. For me, this adds to the charm of the book. As I skimmed through the stories and glanced at the pictures I couldn't help but remember sitting a-top a beanbag with a warm anzac, watching Dr Monica and Miss Polly put Jemima Dolly straight to bed.
See, Sunday afternoon was baking afternoon, the time when my mother would roll up her sleeves and restock the cupboard with afternoon tea and lunchbox treats, and we got to help. Now, there's nothing too shocking in that, most kids have helped their mum bake cookies at one time or another. The reason I share this is because it was the start of a life-long love, a love that may just rival that I will have for any man. Ever.
When I was six...and ten...and even fifteen, cooking was a time I spent helping my mother with chores. But it was also a time we could spend learning each other, and teaching each other things. My mother is a smart woman. She understood that bakeing wasn't just about flour, sugar, and butter, it was about learning new skills, creating something yourself, and giving something to others that you can't find in any Oreo or Tim Tam.
The great thing about cooking is that, when it's done purely for the love of it, it is an experience well outside the chore we often make it. We cook because we must eat. But we can also cook to give those who eat our food, a little taste of ourselves. My days of climbing tractors and ripping off golfers may be over, and the timing may be less Sunday afternoon and more whenever the urge kicks in, but the excitement at watching a cake rise, or a mayonaise thicken is still the same. And the feeling of satisfaction I get when someone 'Mmmmm's at the taste of my brownies is pure joy.
I spent almost an hour today gasping and thumbing through the cookbooks in my local department store. It felt like a mere ten minutes. Among the treasures I would gladly have sold a limb for was a book by Monica Trapaga that sums up a large chunk of why I love cooking.
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